Broken Bayou by Jennifer Moorhead

Author:Jennifer Moorhead [Moorhead, Jennifer]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Thomas & Mercer
Published: 2024-07-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

In the kitchen, I pass up coffee for a glass and a bottle of Sack and Save wine. Drinking at noon isn’t the best idea, but sometimes you make exceptions. Upstairs, I set the bottle of wine and glass down next to the box and television I’d already carried up. My hands tingle as I plug in the television. I sit on the floor in front of it and rip into the box. The VCR and cables are clearly marked, and it doesn’t take as long as expected to hook them into the back of the television. Please work. I press the VCR’s power button and hold my breath.

A green light comes on. My breath escapes with a small sound of disbelief. I power on the television as well, then grab one of the labeled tapes to test it. My mother’s faded black scrawl reads As the World Turns. Mama’s soaps were the sun in her universe. She immersed herself in their made-up problems instead of her own. How lovely it must have been. Little girls in my grade school played Cinderella and Snow White at recess, but Disney had been a foreign concept to me. I didn’t grow up with princes and princesses. I grew up with Lucinda Walsh and Holden Snyder and Dr. Bob Hughes. Men cheated and lied and got slapped. They didn’t kiss you gently to wake you up.

I shove the tape into the VCR slot and press play. My breath stops. Come on.

Wavy horizontal lines replace the white screen. Come on.

Electronic music starts.

“Yes,” I say to the empty bedroom.

A shot of outer space appears, then a floating, rotating Earth glowing blue spins across the screen until it comes to rest as the letter O in the word world. A deep male voice announces “As the World Turns. Brought to you today by Ivory soap and Sure antiperspirant.”

I sit back and shake my head. It actually works. I eject the tape and toss it into a trash bag I brought up from the kitchen. I study the pile of unlabeled tapes. The one I need is in there, so close I can literally touch it.

I grab an unlabeled one and push it into the VCR. My breath is so shallow that it feels as if I’ve been running. The tape is in bad shape; the images are barely visible, but I can tell there are actors on the screen, not my mother or my sister. I fill my wineglass and reach for another one. Then another. And another. The shadows outside the windows are long and getting longer.

After ten tapes, I start to worry Krystal Lynn’s soaps could be all I find. I take a sip of wine and reach for another tape when my phone chirps behind me. I pick it up from the floor. It’s an area code and number I don’t recognize. I send it to voicemail. A second later it rings again, same number. I hesitate, then answer. A crisp female voice fills my ear.

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